The Midnight Bus and Other Scary Tales From Around the World
by thatmeddlingkid
Summary: A collection of adaptations of scary stories and legends starring the Hetalia cast.
1. The Midnight Bus

**The Midnight Bus- Beijing, China.**

Leon stood alone at the bus stop. The distant lights and sounds of the more crowded part of the city reminded him that there were in fact other people around, yet he couldn't shake the eerie feeling of isolation that plagued him. Coming from Hong Kong, Leon was used to the noisiness of his old neighborhood. Looking for a new experience, he packed up all of his possessions and moved to a quieter area of Beijing. At the time, he thought that a change in environment would be nice, but, though he would never admit it, he was beginning to regret his decision.

As the unnerving loneliness grew more suffocating, Leon reached into his backpack to find something to distract himself. When he looked up with his iPod in hand, he was startled to see that he was no longer alone. An old man sporting a red Mandarin jacket and a dark ponytail appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Leon nodded politely before putting on his headphones.

The two men stood in silence until Bus 302 arrived. The old man took a seat up front, a few rows down from the driver. The rest of the bus was deserted, so Leon sat down in the far back. They started moving, and Leon became immersed in his music. He barely noticed the bus stop once more to let on two additional men. They sat down directly behind the driver's seat.

After a few more minutes of staring out the window, Leon felt a rough hand on his shoulder. He turned to see the old man angrily glaring at him. He took off his headphones and gave the man a questioning look.

"Give it back," the old man hissed.

"Excuse me?" Leon replied, completely confused.

"My wallet!" the man answered furiously, "I know you stole it! Now give it back!"

"Are you insane?" Leon was getting upset. "I didn't do anything of the sort."

"Stop lying!" The old man was shouting now. "Give it back right now or I'm calling the police."

He reached forward and boxed Leon's ears. Leon yelled out and smacked away the man's hands. The bus came to an abrupt stop.

"Both of you get out! Now!" The bus driver shouted, "There's no fighting on my bus!"

He opened the door and gestured for them to leave. Leon grumbled as he grabbed his things and stomped out of the bus. Once the men were back on the street the bus driver drove away in a huff. Leon turned to glare at the old man, but was surprised to see him looking oddly relieved.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you on the bus," the old man said with a smile, "but I just saved both of our lives."

"What are you talking about?" Leon asked.

"Those two men who got on, did you get a good look at them?" the man asked.

"Uh, no," he admitted.

"Well, if you had, you would have seen that they were missing their legs," the man exclaimed wildly, "Those men were ghosts!"

Leon had never been the type to believe in the supernatural, and right now he was feeling very annoyed about having to walk all the way home in the middle of the night. He was about to express this annoyance very vigorously until he noticed the man's triumphant grin. He truly believed that he had saved their lives, and Leon couldn't crush a senile old man's feelings. So, with a heavy sigh, Leon thanked the man and began heading back to his apartment.

A couple of weeks later, Leon was sitting at his kitchen table eating breakfast and watching the morning news. He gasped when he saw an image of the bus flash onscreen.

"Two weeks ago, Bus 302 had disappeared shortly after midnight," the newscaster reported, "All traces of it, its driver, and any passengers that may have been aboard were nowhere to be found. Until today, when investigators found the vehicle parked in a ditch three miles north of its normal route."

Leon stared at the screen as a team of medics loaded a full body bag into an ambulance. A swarm of police officers were taping around the area. The bus itself looked completely normal, albeit slightly daunting.

"The driver was found in his seat in an extended state of decomposition, though there appeared to be no sign of a struggle or an apparent cause of death. The bus also appeared to be in perfect shape, until investigators discovered that its petrol tank had been filled with blood."

Leon felt sick. He thought back to that night when he had been so unsuspecting and so very close to ending up like the bus driver. He silently thanked the old man, this time with complete sincerity, for saving him from the fate of the midnight bus.

**So this is an urban legend that made its rounds in Beijing a few years back. There are several variations of it, but I personally liked this one the best.**

**Leon-Hong Kong**

**Old man- China**

**Each chapter of this fanfiction is going to revolve around a different set of characters placed in a scary story or urban legend from their country. I already have a few ideas for more chapters, but if there's anything you really want to see me write about, leave it in the comments.**


	2. The Black Volga

**The Black Volga- Warsaw, Poland**

He knew it was following him. Everywhere Felicks went he saw it. The black Volga, with its darkened windows and shiny exterior, seemed to stalk Felicks day and night.

Just a few weeks earlier, he had moved in with the Maliszewskis. They were nice enough, not much different from the other couples Felicks had lived with over the years. They had two other foster kids living with them, which was a definite perk. Felicks wasn't one to cozy up to strangers, but he was a lot more comfortable with teenagers his age. Younger Eduard was Estonian, and he spent a lot of time fiddling with cassette tapes and fancy computers. He was nice enough, but only liked to talk about programming and strange computer languages that confused Felicks. Toris, the other boy, was a year older than Felicks. He was from Lithuania, but that was as much as Felicks knew. When you met someone who left the USSR, it was an unspoken rule to leave their past behind them. Felicks didn't mind talking, however, so the young blonde chatted non-stop to Toris. In turn, the brunette would listen to whatever needed to be said. The boys complemented each other nicely, and soon became fast friends.

He noticed the Volga a few days after. It sat in the alley, facing towards the apartment. After about an hour, whoever was in it drove off. He saw it often after that. Almost every day it would park in the alley, right after Felicks got home, then leave, right before the Maliszewskis returned from work. It was a bit unordinary, but not weird enough to worry about, so Felicks pushed it to the back of his mind. Then, when he was walking home one day with Toris, he saw it again. This time, it drove down the street, slowing slightly when it passed the boys. Felicks blinked but said nothing.

Soon he noticed it everywhere. The Volga watched him as he walked the streets of Warsaw, never close enough to interfere, but always there. It haunted Felicks wherever he was, but his shyness kept him from mentioning anything to his foster parents. He tried for days to ignore the car and go about his business without calling attention, until his paranoia was suffocating him. Finally, Felicks decided to throw caution to the wind and talk to Toris.

That night, while the Maliszewskis were out on a date, Felicks approached Toris in the bedroom they shared.

"Toris," he said with a deep breath, "Do you know anything about a black Volga?"

The brunette looked at him strangely. It was as if he were recalling a bitter memory.

"Back home, Volgas were used for government officials." Toris stared into the distance. "Whenever we saw them, we knew something bad was going to happen."

"Have you seen any here?" Felicks asked cautiously.

Toris snapped out of his haze. "Maybe once or twice. They aren't really that popular in Poland. Why?"

"I keep seeing this one around," Felicks whispered, as though it could hear him, "I don't know who it is, but I think they're following me."

"Really? Are you sure?"

Felicks nodded. "I see it everywhere! It's always, just, around. You can't see the inside because it's all blackened, but I've never seen anyone get in or out."

Toris thought for a bit. "We can ask Eduard," he suggested, "He's been here for a lot longer than I have. If there's a weirdo who likes to watch people from his car, than Eduard will probably know something about it."

The boys found Eduard in his room, tinkering with his computer. Felicks, his shyness getting the better of him, looked pleadingly at Toris. The older boy lightly tapped Eduard's shoulder. He jumped slightly before turning.

"Oh," he said with a relieved smile, "Sorry. You caught me off guard."

"Eduard," Toris said frowning, "Do you know anything about a black Volga?"

Felicks watched the bespectacled boy closely as he furrowed his brows. Suddenly a look of realization ran across Eduard's face.

"Raivis!" he gasped.

"Raivis?" Toris repeated, "Do you think this is because of him?"

"Who's Raivis?" Felicks asked.

"He used to live here," Toris explained, "before I arrived. But he ran away, right Eduard?"

"We thought so," he replied, "but I'm not sure anymore. He was younger than us, about fifteen. Raivis was nice, but he had a lot of problems. Always getting into trouble because he always opened his mouth when he shouldn't have. He drank a lot too, but you know how it is. You stay out of other people's business. Anyway, right before he disappeared, he mentioned a black Volga. Said it was following him around. I just figured he had gotten into something harder than alcohol."

Felicks didn't know what to say. Any doubts he had about the stalking vehicle were immediately extinguished.

"You don't think it had something to do with his disappearance?" Toris asked.

"I don't know" Eduard answered, "Like I said, he got into trouble a lot. It was probably someone he pissed off. Why are you asking about a Volga anyway?"

"It's been following me," Felicks said quietly, "And I don't know why."

Eduard raised his eyebrows. "You have no idea?"

"No!" Felicks exclaimed indignantly.

"No ties with anyone? Nothing you need to pay?"

"Eduard," Toris warned, "If he said he didn't do anything, then he didn't do anything. Leave him alone."

Eduard raised up his hands. "Fine, if you say so. But if you got on someone's bad side, don't be surprised if they decide that they want you dead."

"I said enough, Eduard," Toris shouted.

"Shut up, Toris!" he yelled back, "You don't even know what this is about!"

Felicks, still shocked from Eduard's words, ran out of the room. He was never one to get involved where he wasn't needed, he didn't even like talking to strangers, but the story about Raivis rattled around in his head. Could he have inadvertently angered someone? Did it have something to do with his parents whose early car accident related deaths left him orphaned as a baby? Felicks didn't know, and frankly, that was what scared him the most.

Before he knew it, Felicks had made his way out the front door and a few blocks down the street. He stopped running and leaned against the side of a building. He stood there until his breathing was under control. Once he calmed down, Felicks gathered himself up and turned back towards the apartment.

The street was dark and deserted, but Felicks willed himself not to panic again. He knew that absolutely nothing would be solved if he let his fear get the better of him. Felicks marched down the street, determined to fix things with Eduard and Toris.

He didn't see the dark shape roll up until it was too late. A figure darted out of the back seat and covered his face with a chloroform doused cloth. Another pair of hands helped the figure drag Felicks into the black Volga.

Felicks woke up to the sound of a woman speaking in a language that he couldn't understand. He was laying down on a flat, hard surface. A bright light hanging from the ceiling blinded him. He tried to sit up, only to realize that his arms, legs, and head were strapped down. His groans alerted the woman, and the talking stopped. Two female figures wearing scrubs leaned over into Felicks's view. One woman had short hair and kind blue eyes, the other had a scowl on her pretty face.

Felicks screamed.

"No, no," the short-haired one said in Polish, her accent reflecting an Eastern upbringing, "Don't do that, you're going to hurt yourself."

"What does it matter if he hurts himself, Iryna?" the other woman snapped.

"Shh! I thought we agreed not to use names?"

"It doesn't matter! He's not going to tell anybody!" She turned back towards Felicks. "Hello, I'm Natalya, and this is my sister, Iryna. Nice to fucking meet you!"

"What do you want from me?" Felicks cried, "What did I do?"

The short-haired woman, Iryna, wiped the tears off of his face. "No, sweetheart, it's not like that. You didn't do anything wrong."

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing painful, I promise."

Felicks heard a door open. This time, a man spoke in a foreign tongue. Natalya and Iryna backed away and a tall, light-haired man approached Felicks.

"Hello," he said cheerily, "How are you today?"

Felicks didn't know what to say, so he screamed once again.

"If you're trying to call for help, it won't work. Nobody will hear you."

"People know that I'm missing," Felicks exclaimed, "They're out looking for me right now!"

"Maybe," the man reasoned, "but they'll eventually give up."

"Just like they did with the last one, right Ivan?" Natalya loomed over Felicks and smiled wickedly. "Nobody cared about him. He was just some sorry little shit-stain who never had anyone. Just. Like. You."

"It's best if we use people like you," Ivan said with a smile, "Orphans, beggars. People who won't be missed. Less questions need to be asked when we make the exchange."

"You'd be surprised at how much people are willing to pay for an organ," Natalya interjected, "Especially if it's for their kid."

Ivan nodded in agreement. "Don't take it personally. It's just business." He turned his head to the side. "Iryna, is the anesthesia ready?"

"Yes," she answered, "Everything is."

The three doctors put on their caps and surgical masks. They paid no attention to Felicks's desperate thrashing and shouting. They loomed over him, each with a different expression in their eyes. Natalya's were hard and angry, Iryna's were apologetic and warm, and Ivan's were completely blank. Felicks sobbed as the anesthesia mask was placed over his nose and mouth.

"It's okay," Iryna assured him, "It'll all be over soon."

Then everything faded to black.

**The Black Volga is a legend that floated around Poland, Mongolia, and parts of the USSR back in the 1960's. Different variations have the driver of the car being all sorts of things, from nuns to Satanists to the devil himself. I find the version I used to be the best because I'm a firm believer in the notion that there is nothing scarier that the extent of human cruelty.**

**Felicks-Poland**

**Toris-Lithuania**

**Eduard-Estonia**

**Raivis-Latvia**

**Iryna-Ukraine**

**Natalya-Belarus**

**Ivan-Russia**

**If you have an idea for a chapter that you really want to see written, leave it in the comments!**


	3. The Wendigo

**The Wendigo – Great Lakes Region, North America**

Deep in the middle of a piney forest, four teenagers sat around the campfire smoking blunts and watching the sun set as soft rock music played from a boom box.

"I'm telling you," Alfred said, "There is absolutely nothing scarier than a ghost."

"Really?" Maddie asked, "A ghost? Not something that can actually touch you?"

"No," Amelia murmured, "He's right. Ghosts are the worst."

Matthew shook his head indignantly. "There's no way that ghosts are the scariest. What about serial killers? Like that guy from that movie, with the bag on his head?"

Maddie giggled. "He had a machete!"

"Nah, man," Alfred replied seriously, "You can fight a serial killer. You can't fight a ghost. They're already dead! You can punch them and your hand would just…go right through them." He held up his fist for demonstration.

"If there was a ghost," Amelia thought out loud, "I would say 'Sorry, guys' and run away."

"You would let us get eaten?" Maddie cried.

"No, no, no" Amelia protested, "Ghosts don't eat people! And don't worry, because if there was a serial killer, I would hit him with my baseball bat."

"You brought a baseball bat?"

Amelia nodded, beaming, before her face suddenly dropped. "I forgot the baseball."

The group erupted into laughter.

"Are there any more chips?" Alfred asked, "I got the munchies."

Amelia threw him a bag of Doritos. "Don't eat them all this time. Save some for us."

"I always do," he said with a grin.

After a few hours, the teens put out their fire and retreated to their tents, the two girls in one, with the boys in the other. As soon as he zipped up his sleeping bag, Alfred was snoring. Matthew stayed awake for a few minutes, listening quietly to the assorted animal calls and rustling coming from outside the tent. Before he knew it, he was asleep too.

A loud shout ripped Matthew from his dreams. He shot up to see a terrified Alfred gripping his hair and breathing heavily.

"Alfred, are you okay?" Matthew asked.

He shook his head frantically and began mumbling to himself.

"What's wrong?" Matthew crawled over to his friend.

"It's inside me." Alfred whispered.

"What?"

"It came to me in my dream and now it's inside me. I can feel it inside me!" Alfred began to claw at his skin. "Get it out, Matt, it hurts!"

Matthew grabbed his hands and held him down. Hearing the unzipping of the tent flap, Matthew turned to see Amelia and Maddie climbing through the opening. They gasped in unison when they saw Alfred thrashing around and screaming in pain.

"Matt, what's wrong with him?" Amelia cried.

"I don't know," he answered, "I think he's having a bad trip."

"You think this is because of the pot?"

"It can't be," Maddie said shaking her head, "Pot doesn't do this."

"Then he must have taken something else," Matthew shouted, "We need to get him to a hospital!"

Amelia backed out of the tent. "I'm going to go pull up the car, and we'll carry him together. Wait right here." She ran off.

Matthew turned to his screaming friend. "Alfred," he said as calmly as he could, "We're going to get you some help, but first you need to tell us what you took."

Alfred shook his head wildly. "Nothing," he cried, "I didn't take anything. I saw it for real. It was tall and bony and it had antlers and it made this horrible sound!"

Alfred screamed once again. This time it was followed by the ominous sound of bones cracking. He went into another round of violent convulsions that threw Matthew back with an unnatural amount of force. He hit the wall of the tent and the entire structure collapsed. Matthew frantically tried to free himself from the pile of canvas while Alfred's cries turned into inhuman shrieks. The two other campers froze in fear as the thing that used to be their friend twisted and mutated. Bones ripped through rotting flesh and antlers sprouted from its head. Shaggy fur became matted with blood and scared blue eyes sank deep into the sockets of its animalistic skull. The thing stood in the moonlight and let out a wail that shook Matthew to his core. Maddie screamed and in a flash the creature was on top of her. Before Matthew could move her throat was ripped out and she was reduced to choked gurgles.

A high-pitched car horn pierced the air. The old station wagon screeched to a stop a few feet away from the scene. Amelia jumped out of the driver's seat gripping her baseball bat.

"Get away from her!" she commanded the creature. It responded with another roar and charged at her. At the same time, Matthew sprinted towards Amelia, but he was no match for the massive monster. Amelia's bat was thrown from her hands upon impact. Matthew gripped the creature's bloody fur and tried in vain to pull it off of her. The monster tore him off with a quick flick of it bony claws. Matthew landed hard on his back, knocking the wind out of him. He flipped over and crawled as fast as he could away from the beast. It loomed over him, ready to strike.

Minutes later, the creature gazed over the deserted campsite. It had finished feeding for now, but there was no satisfying its insatiable hunger. The forest fell silent as it made its way through the trees. It was time for the hunt.

**Author's note:**

**The Wendigo is a monster appearing in assorted legends deriving from the Algonquian Native Americans from what are now parts of Eastern Canada and the United States. It is said to possess people either through appearing in a dream, as I used in the story, or when someone performs a cannibalistic act. They essentially become the Wendigo and are cursed with a never-ending hunger for human flesh. Cannibalism is extremely taboo in Algonquian culture and the myth is thought to have been conceived as a way of deterring people from hosting their own Donner Party**_**.**_

**Matthew-Canada**

**Alfred-America**

**Maddie- NyoCanada**

**Amelia-NyoAmerica**

**If you have an idea for a chapter that you want to see written, leave it in the comments.**


	4. The Bunyip

**The Bunyip- Australia**

Charlie wiped her paint-smeared hands on her pink smock as she stepped back to look at her soon-to-be masterpiece. The rolling hills on the canvas were a bright spring green and the mountains in the background were a deep blue, but the painting lacked depth. Charlie dug through her supplies to find a suitable color only to find that her tube of forest green was almost empty. She groaned and set down her brushes.

Charlie ran downstairs to look for her eldest brother. She found him in the backyard working on their fence.

"Jett!" she yelled.

He turned around and gave her a smile. "Hey Charlie, how's the painting going?"

"Alright," she answered, "but I'm out of the color I need. Can you take me into town so I can get more?"

"Yeah, nah" Jett shook his head. "I'm a bit busy now. Something tore through the fence, God knows what."

"Can I just walk then?"

"No, I don't think so. It'll be dark soon and I don't want you wandering around alone."

"What if I take the shortcut? The one around the billabong?"

"Absolutely not. I don't want you stickybeaking around there. It's dangerous."

"Aw, c'mon Jett! I'm almost finished! And I'm twelve years old! I can handle a trip to the store by myself!"

Jett looked into her pleading eyes and sighed. "Fine," he agreed, "But, you have to go with your brother."

Charlie's face fell. "Really, Jett? I have to go with _Oscar_?" She spat out the word like it was acid.

"No. You can wait until tomorrow to finish your painting."

Charlie rolled her eyes.

"What happened between you two anyway," Jett said with a laugh, "You used to get along perfectly."

"He went through puberty and got all up himself."

Jett laughed again. "Well, if you want to go, you better ask him before it's too late. And I recommend doing it with a smile."

Charlie sighed and trudged back to the house. The door to Oscar's room was shut, and she hesitated a bit before knocking. Before Charlie had a chance to change her mind and walk away the door swung open and Oscar stood with a smirk.

"Well, hello Charlotte. What can I do for you?"

"I need to get paint from town, but Jett's busy and he says I can't go alone."

Oscar tilted his head. "And what do you want me to do about it?"

Charlie looked at her shoes and mumbled.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I said, will you go with me into town?"

Oscar scratched his chin in mock contemplation. "I suppose I could for you, little sister, though I may decide later to call upon the favor that you now owe me."

Charlie scowled. "Fine, let's just go."

`The siblings waved goodbye to Jett as they walked down the road into town. At first, the duo remained silent, but it wasn't long before they began bickering.

"You couldn't have changed before you left the house?" Oscar complained while looking over Charlie's dirty clothing.

"It's just paint," she replied with an eye roll.

"Still, it doesn't exactly look good for me to be seen walking around with someone who looks like they chundered all over themselves."

"Shut up!"

"I'm just saying, if you want people to actually like you, you have to put in a little effort."

"Plenty of people like me!"

Oscar smirked. "They do, huh? That's pretty hard to believe when all you do is hide in your room and paint pictures. It's rather unbecoming."

"God, this is why I didn't want to go with you. You're such a knocker!" Charlie stormed off the road into the swampy woods.

"Where do you think you're going?" Oscar called out.

"I'm taking the shortcut," Charlie shouted over her shoulder, "Now rack off!" She ran out of sight.

Oscar sighed. If Charlie got herself lost, Jett was going to kill him. He reluctantly followed after her, grimacing at the sound his brand new shoes made in mud. Lately it had been raining more than usual and the entire area was waterlogged and smelled terrible. Oscar swatted away mosquitoes and tried his best to navigate through the damp wilderness. As the sun set, Oscar became more and more frantic. He shouted Charlie's name and to his horror, Oscar was answered by a terrified shriek.

"Charlie!" Oscar shouted, "Where are you?" He ran in the direction of the screaming, dodging roots and tree branches, until he came upon the clearing near the billabong. Oscar was shocked to see Charlie's painted hands disappear under the water. Without hesitation, he jumped over, grabbed onto her wrists, and pulled with all of his might. Charlie gasped as her head was dragged out from under the surface.

"It's got me!" she cried. Before Oscar could ask what she meant a huge, shaggy shape rose up from the billabong. Charlie's leg was firmly held in between the creature's massive fangs and it began to swing at Oscar with giant webbed feet equipped with sharp claws. He dodged the attacks as best he could while still gripping onto Charlie. Meanwhile, she kicked at the animal with her free foot until she hit the monster right in its glassy yellow eye. With a pained roar, it let go of Charlie's leg and reared back. The siblings crashed to the ground and scrambled away from the water. The creature stared at the two menacingly with its one good eye before retreating back under the surface.

Charlie suddenly pulled Oscar into a hug. "I'm so sorry I left!" she sobbed into his shoulder.

Oscar tightly squeezed her back, "No worries. I'm sorry I was being such a dick." He looked down at her bloody leg. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I think so. It doesn't hurt too much."

"Alright, then. Let's go home."

The two managed to sneak back into the house without Jett seeing them. With Oscar's help, Charlie managed to clean her wounds and to their relief, the injury was not nearly as bad as it looked. The siblings agreed to keep their encounter to themselves, not a very hard task considering the subject matter, though the next day they helped Jett reinforce the broken fence.

And from that day on, they never, ever took the shortcut past the billabong.

**Author's note:**

**Hey ya'll. Sorry if you've been waiting for a new chapter. I had finals, then a series of family get-togethers and graduation parties to attend, and then I just got really lazy.**

**Anyway, the bunyip is a lake monster from Aboriginal Australian legend. They are said to live in lakes, rivers, swamps, and billabongs and feast on women and children. There's a song about them in this old Australian animated movie called Dot and the Kangaroo. It's pretty creepy and I suggest checking it out on YouTube.**

**Charlie- Wy**

**Oscar- Hutt River**

**Jett- Australia**

**Also, sorry if you were expecting a not-so-happy ending to this chapter. I was originally going to have at least one of them die, but then I realized that my last two chapters ended pretty darkly, and I decided to lighten things up.**

**As always, if you have an idea for a chapter that you want to see, leave it in the comments.**


	5. The Greek Soldier

**The Greek Soldier- Greece**

The sun shone brightly over the city of Athens while a cool sea breeze drifted across fields of fresh spring flowers. The glorious Parthenon stood atop the acropolis overlooking the bustling city. Upon its steps sat a teenager, who looked out across Athens, deep in thought. This young man, known as Heracles Karpusi, was not like most boys his age. After school ended for the day, instead of hanging out by the docks or flirting in town, Heracles opted to go off on his own and brood, perhaps in the company of one or two of the many stray cats found in the area.

Today, however, Heracles was wanted at home earlier than usual today, so at a quarter to six, he gathered his schoolbooks, slung his tan jacket over his shoulders, and walked home to the small apartment he shared with his mother. Helena Karpusi, a beautiful and motherly woman, sold handmade pottery to the tourists that frequented the market downtown. She didn't make much, but it was enough to support her small family.

When Heracles walked in through the front door, Helena rushed over to give him a hug.

"Happy Birthday, sweetie!" she cried out.

"Thank you, Mom," he said with a small smile.

Helena let go of him and returned to the small kitchen with Heracles following close behind. "I made pastitsio for dinner and lemon cake for afterwards. I hope that sounds good."

"It sounds perfect, Mom, thank you very much."

The two sat down and ate, Helena doing most of the talking, as Heracles was not much of a conversationalist. She babbled on and on about how grown Heracles was and how his eighteenth birthday meant that he was finally an adult. Suddenly, she began to tear up.

"Mom, what's wrong," Hercules asked.

"It's just," she weeped, "you look just like him."

'Him' was Hercules's father. A man who, for whatever reason, was content with abandoning his young wife and baby. Hercules had heard all of the stories about him. How he was a dashing and romantic soldier, how he made Helena feel like she was the most loved woman in the world, and how he left without so much as a good-bye.

"Mom, please," he begged, "I don't want to talk about him."

"No," she said, holding her hand up to silence him, "Heracles, you do not understand. There is something very important that I must tell you about your father."

Helena stood up and walked into her room motioning for him to follow. Once inside, she reached underneath her mattress and pulled out an aged envelope. She handed it to her son. On the front it read: _For Heracles, on his eighteenth birthday. _

"I lied to you," Helena confessed, "I said that he took everything when he left, but that isn't true. The morning after he went, I woke up and found this on the table. I've never opened it, and I never told you about it because I didn't want you to go looking for it and open it too early."

Heracles stared at the envelope and said nothing.

"Please forgive me for lying," she pleaded.

"Of course I forgive you, Mom," he said with a hug.

She held his face in her hands. "Listen, Heracles. I know that this is a really heavy thing for you to deal with, and I just want you to know that whatever you do is okay with me. You don't have to tell me what's in it. You don't even have to read it if you don't want to. There's no pressure, okay?"

"Alright." Heracles looked at the envelope. "I think I'm going to go to bed now."

Helena nodded understandingly and gave him a kiss good-night. Hercules walked slowly into his bedroom and closed the door, his eyes never leaving the letter, as if it would jump out of his hand if he looked away. He sat down and stared at it for so long that he lost track of time. Finally, with a deep breath, he ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter.

_Hercules,_

_The first thing that you must understand is that I am dead. By this I do not mean that I will be dead by the time you read this. I mean that sitting here, writing this letter to you on the kitchen table, I am dead. I'm not sure what I am, a ghost perhaps, but I know that I was murdered. You see, many years ago, I was a soldier in the War. I left to come home to my fiancée, my one and only love. However, on my way back, I was attacked and tortured by three men for five weeks before they let me. Since I've been dead, I have been roaming Greece looking for gullible widows and naive young women to impregnate. Your mother is one such woman, and you are one such child. Your task is simple. On the back of this letter, I have provided you the information you will need to seek out my three murderers. You, along with all of the other men I have fathered, will kill them and avenge my death._

Hercules folded the letter up and slipped it back into the envelope. Then, he did what he did best and thought. He sat alone for hours in silence, simply gazing out of his bedroom window, even when the sun set and the moon rose into the middle of the sky. At last, at nearly a quarter to three, he stood and walked over to his desk. Heracles lit a candle and took out a piece of paper and a pen. Once again he removed the letter from the envelope and, mimicking his father's handwriting as carefully as he could, began writing a letter of his own.

_Dear Heracles,_

_Leaving you and your mother is the hardest thing I have ever done. I never told Helena this, but I am being pursued by a group of communists that I knew in the army. Their names aren't important and neither are their motives. In fact, it would be best for you and your mother to know as little as possible about this. I'm leaving because the men who are trying to kill me have threatened to hurt you two. I do not believe that these threats are empty and I could not live with myself knowing that I have harmed you. I trust that you will take good care of your mother, even though I cannot. Know that I love you both more than anything in the world, and that every day I spend without you is the worst day of my life._

_With love,_

_Dad._

Heracles folded the new letter and placed it on the corner of his desk, ready to show to his mother in the morning. Then, he held the original over the candle flame and watched silently as it burned away.

**Author's note:**

**The Greek Soldier is an urban legend told throughout Greece (no shit) about a ghost who goes around spreading his seed so that one day, his sons will avenge him. Kind of a weird one, if you ask me, but nonetheless I felt it was worthy of adaptation.**

**Heracles-Greece**

**Helena- Ancient Greece**


	6. The Hulder

**The Hulder-Scandinavia**

A cold wind chilled the air as the sun set over the small village. The only light came from the windows of a tavern on the outskirts of town. Inside, the tavern was packed with villagers eager to escape the bite of winter. Sitting at a table in the corner of the room were three figures, two men and a child.

"Mathias," the shorter man said, "It's getting late. We should head home soon."

"C'mon, Lukas," the taller man replied, "We only got here, like, three hours ago. Why do you want to cut the fun short?"

Lukas rolled his eyes. "It's not that I'm not having fun watching you fail to pick up ladies, because that never gets old, it's just that I have to get Emil to bed." He gestured at the young boy who sat with them.

Mathias ruffled Emil's hair, receiving a cold glare. "It's about time he learns how to party like a real man, and if his own brother won't show him, then I guess it's up to me."

"Mathias, he's seven."

"That's no excuse! Besides, you just want to get home so you can get back to reading all of those weird spells or talking to trolls or whatever you do."

"That's not true," Lukas lied.

"Okay, listen. Just stay another half-hour. Please? For me?"

"Fine. You better make the most of it."

Mathias cheered and downed the rest of his drink before running off into the crowd on the dance floor. Lukas looked at his brother. "Mathias is an idiot. Don't act like him." Emil nodded solemnly.

A few minutes later, Mathias returned to the table with a woman on his arm. Lukas was mildly surprised because she was decent-looking, beautiful actually. She had long, silky blonde hair that flowed down her back and flawless pale skin. He figured she had some sort of brain damage.

"Lukas, this is Ingrid," Mathias introduced, "Ingrid, this is my best friend, Lukas, and his little brother Emil."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Ingrid said with a voice that sounded like music. Lukas and Emil nodded at her.

The band playing in the back of the tavern began a new song.

"Oh, I love this one!" Ingrid giggled, "Mathias, come dance with me!" She pulled him away from the table. The two brothers watched in silence as Mathias swung her around to the music. When the song ended, they watched the band start a new one and the couple began dancing again. And again. And again. Lukas was completely bored and Emil had his head slumped on the table, barely keeping his eyes open. The older brother tried in vain to get Mathias's attention, but he was too busy with his new lady friend. Finally, Lukas grew tired of waiting.

"Get up, Emil," he said with a shake of his brother's shoulder, "We're going home."

Emil rubbed his eyes and stood up. "What about Mathias?"

"He's a grown man. He can take care of himself."

Lukas grabbed Emil's coat and scarf and bundled him up. He then made one last futile attempt to signal Mathias before putting on his own coat and leading Emil out of the tavern. When they went outside, they were hit head-on with a blast of freezing air.

"Is it snowing?" Emil asked through his mittens shielding his face.

"Not quite," Lukas answered, "But it will soon. We need to hurry."

He gripped Emil's hand and the brothers quickly made their way home. After a twenty minute walk, they finally reached the small house that they shared with Mathias. The boys stripped off their coats and Lukas built a small fire in the fireplace.

"Alright, now," he said, turning towards his yawning brother, "You need to get to bed."

Emil nodded sleepily and shuffled towards his bedroom.

As Lukas tucked him in, Emil looked up into his brother's eyes.

"Are you mad that Mathias didn't come home with us?"

Lukas scoffed. "Of course not. He can take care of himself. It's actually nice to get some peace and quiet around here."

"I miss him," Emil frowned, "And I don't like that girl he was dancing with."

"What was wrong with Ingrid?" he asked.

"She was weird," his brother answered.

"Why? Because she actually wanted to dance with Mathias?" Lukas laughed.

"She had a tail," Emil said abruptly. The smile fell from Lukas's face.

"What did you say?" he whispered seriously.

"She had a tail," Emil repeated, "It looked like a cow's. And she had it all tied up under her skirt so no one would see it. But I did."

Lukas stepped back and processed what he had just heard. "Emil," he said quietly, "This is very, very serious. You have to promise me that you are not making this up. You really did see a tail on Ingrid?"

Emil nodded, his eyes big with fear. Lukas took a deep breath and walked over to the window to look outside. When he saw the snow falling to the ground at lightning pace and blanketing the world outside, he knew that Emil could not handle the cold. Lukas said goodnight to his brother and slipped out of the house, making sure that the door was locked behind him. He pressed through the blizzard as fast as he could, but the freezing wind pushed against him and the trip to the tavern took nearly twice as long as before. When Lukas finally arrived he frantically slammed open the doors of the bar.

"Mathias?" he yelled, "Where are you?"

The few people left in the tavern eyed him funnily but otherwise ignored Lukas's shout. He ran up to the bartender.

"Excuse me," he said, "There was a man in here earlier. He's tall with blue eyes and spikey blonde hair. Have you seen him?"

The bartender scratched his chin and thought for a moment. "Yeah," he said, "I did. He was dancing with a pretty blonde girl for a while."

"Are they still here?" Lukas asked.

"No, sorry, you just missed them. They left about five minutes ago."

"Did they say where they were going?"

"Nope, not to me anyway. But I bet I could guess." The man chuckled. "Lucky guy, your friend is. She was a looker alright."

Lukas cursed under his breath. "Trust me, he is anything but lucky."

"Hey, like I said, they just left. If you're really torn up about it you could probably catch up with them. Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't see them on the way out."

Lukas thanked the bartender and left the tavern. He stood in the street and spun around trying fruitlessly to spy his friend, or anything for that matter.

"Mathias" he cried out, "Mathias, please answer me!"

Lukas ran blindly through the snow, screaming his friend's name. Deep inside, he told himself that it was hopeless, but part of him wouldn't allow him to give up until Mathias was safe. Lukas knew what "Ingrid" was, and he knew what their kind would do to unsuspecting humans and he would be damned if his best friend was subjected to the same fate. So he trudged on through the blizzard and yelled out for Mathias. When his voice became nothing more than a croak and he felt on verge of collapsing, Lukas realized that it was time for him to go back home to his brother. With tears freezing to his face and his body aching with grief, Lukas shambled home to the cottage that would from then on always feel empty.

**Author's note:**

**The Hulder, also known as Huldra, is a Scandinavian forest creature that has the appearance of a beautiful maiden or handsome young man with a cow (or fox) tail and a back made of rotting wood. They seduce people with their charms and bring them back to their lairs to keep as slaves or worse. **

**I have a feeling that this chapter came out as more sad than I originally planned. The chapter before was kind of tame too. Hmm. I'll try harder next time.**

**Anyway, if you have an idea for a chapter that you want to see, leave it in the comments. Though, I want to make it clear that I plan on writing a chapter for all or most of the canon characters before I move on to OCs or double back over people already used.**


	7. The Suicide Forest

**A.N. - Hey, sorry, but I forgot to put the country names at the end of my last chapter. They are as follows: Emil= Iceland, Lukas= Norway, Mathias= Denmark. That is all, you may proceed.**

**The Suicide Forest- Yamanashi Prefecture, Japan.**

At the foot of the scenic Mount Fuji, a forest stretches across miles of hard volcanic rock. Within it, the foliage is so dense that its floor remains dim at all times and no wind can be felt. The only sounds that are heard are the occasional bird call or the quiet rustling of small animals. On the edge of the forest, there sits a sign. It reads,

_Your life is a precious gift from your parents. Think about them and the rest of your family. You don't have to suffer alone._

Kiku stood across from this sign with a pack on his back and a camera around his neck. He was beginning to rethink his decision to come here. After all, there are plenty of places to experience the natural beauty of Japan. But Kiku knew that staying locked up in his house all day with only his dog for company is not healthy, and if he went home now, he would probably never bring himself to get out again. The young man adjusted his gear and gave one last glance at the sign before starting down the forest path.

It wasn't long before he found a mark of humanity. Someone had tied bright orange plastic tape around a tree trunk and unrolled it as they moved deeper into the wilderness. Kiku began to follow it, unsure of what he would find at the end. After walking a few dozen feet, he came across a small tent.

"Hello?" he called out, "Is anyone in there?"

No answer.

Kiku cautiously approached the tent and peeked inside. There was nothing but a couple of empty water bottles and a book. Kiku quickly looked over his shoulder before picking up the book. On its cover it read _Black Sea of Trees_. He set it down again and backed away before taking a look around. That's when he saw it. Hanging from a nearby tree was the owner of the tent. It had been there a while, its flesh half-rotted and its jawbone ripped open in a silent scream. Looking at the clothing, Kiku guessed that it used to be a man, though it was hard to tell otherwise. He felt a strange mixture of sadness and panic that made him want to get away as soon as possible, so he ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

At least he thought it was the opposite direction. After a few minutes of running, Kiku stopped to breathe only to realize that he had strayed from the path. He began to retrace his steps when the earth beneath his foot collapsed sending him flying to the ground. He hit hard on his elbows and rolled over only to come face to face with a smiling skull. Kiku let out a scream and scrambled to his feet. This body was older than the other, only a skeleton, though it still wore tattered clothing and sneakers.

The panic inside of Kiku rose and he had to restrain himself from running away again and getting even more lost. He tried to figure out where he was but all of the trees looked the same and every direction seemed to lead deeper into the forest. Not seeing any other option, Kiku started walking and hoped he would find a way out.

Hours passed and Kiku was still lost in the forest. The setting sun diminished what little light the thick canopy let in. He pulled a flashlight out of his backpack and pressed on, though he was rapidly losing hope of ever escaping. No matter where he went, the sea of trees went on and on. Every once in a while, he would come across another body or a message scratched onto a trunk detailing the reason that somebody had decided to take their own life. As the night grew darker, Kiku was filled with an overwhelming amount of dread.

Finally, after hours of traveling in almost complete darkness, the flashlight beam hit something familiar. Kiku let out a yelp of joy as he rushed towards the sign on the edge of the forest. But when he broke through the trees into the clearing, he realized that something was terribly wrong. Besides the small area directly around the sign, the forest went on endlessly in every direction.

There was no way out.

Kiku screamed and kicked the sign before breaking down into sobs.

"Hello," a voice called out.

Kiku jumped at the sound and looked to see a young woman standing before him. She was young, and quite pretty with long hair and a white dress. But something about her was off. She was deathly pale and seemed to emit a strange glow. Kiku couldn't take his eyes off of her.

"Hello," she repeated, "Why are you crying?"

Suddenly embarrassed of his overt show of emotion in the presence of a stranger, Kiku wiped his eyes. The girl cocked her head.

"Are you trying to leave?"

He slowly nodded his head, unable to form words in his mouth.

"Why would you want to leave? The forest is a wonderful place to be."

The girl moved towards Kiku, who, for some strange reason, could not bring himself to move. As she came forward, other figures stepped out into the clearing. They all looked as she did, ghostly white with sad expressions of longing on their gaunt faces.

"If you cannot find your way out of here, that must be a sign that you are not meant to leave."

The woman was directly over him now, looking down at Kiku with large black eyes that seemed to see nothing.

"Stay with us, Kiku."

She bent down and whispered into his ear.

"No one will miss you. Your only friends are online gaming buddies on the other side of the world. They will forget about you."

Kiku shook his head. It wasn't true, he told himself. Right?

"You have never done anything worthwhile in this world. You are not in the least bit important. You do nothing but take up space."

The figures moved closer and closer to him and the dread in his core built.

"Really, you would be doing society a favor by coming with us."

The woman placed her icy hand on Kiku's face and a shiver ran down his spine.

"Think about how _nice_ it will feel to finally be finished with it all. No more worrying about bills, or relationships, or any other problem."

The figures surrounded Kiku, lightly touching him and murmuring his name.

"You will be free."

In that moment, all feelings of fear, panic, and sadness flowed out of Kiku and were replaced by a sense of contentment that he had never felt before in his life. The woman and her companions backed away as he stood up and walked towards the nearest tree. Kiku unlatched the camera from its strap around his neck and let it fall to the ground with an echoing thump. He pulled the neck strap out as long as it would go and tied off both of its ends, one to the lowest branch, the other around his own neck. Then, he went limp.

One early morning in November, at the edge of Aokigahara, a crowd of volunteers lined up, each preparing to venture into the forest and retrieve the remains of those who had taken their lives there. They hoped that it would be a good year, one where the body count would not reach hundreds, but they knew that no matter what, they had a long day ahead of them.

The first body was found by two young men only a few meters into the forest.

"Wow," one of the men said with awe, "It looks like this guy really couldn't wait. Look, he didn't even buy himself some rope." He gestured at the camera strap around the body's neck.

The second man cut it down and watched the body collapse into a heap on the ground. "Poor guy," he said, "I wonder why he did it."

**Author's note:**

**Aokigahara is a forest in central Japan that is infamously associated with death. Way back when a lot of people were too poor to support their whole families, old or sick family members were left there to die. Now, Aokigahara is the second most popular place in the world to commit suicide, the first being the Golden Gate Bridge in the United States. This is largely attributed to its use as the suicide location of the two main characters of the popular Japanese book **_**Black Sea of Trees**_**. Others say the forest is haunted by the many ghosts of people who have died there and that they talk lost travelers into committing suicide. Either way, it causes a lot of problems for the locals who have to perform an annual clean up.**

**Kiku-Japan**

**Thank you for taking the time to read my story. **


	8. The Bloody Countess

**Uh, just a warning for some, but this chapter might be a bit graphic.**

**The Bloody Countess- Hungary**

The freezing cold wind whipped against Elizabeta's red cheeks as she stood rigidly in the courtyard. Ratty gloves hid her knuckles, clenched around the handle of a bucket full of cold water. Her green eyes, once bright with vigor, now gazed apathetically at the sight of the violently shivering figure crouched before her. The naked woman, just a teenager, was cursed with a pretty face and a lack of nobility, two traits that marked her for eventual death at the hands of Elizabeta's superior, one Countess Bathory. The countess was quite beautiful herself, but her fair features failed to mask the darkness that festered within her. Bathory's expression was that of immense joy as she gestured for Elizabeta to dump the water on the freezing girl. The countess, along with her small court of trusted friends and advisors, laughed cruelly at the girl's choked screams. Soon the shrieks turned into whimpers, which then died down into gasping breaths until, finally, the courtyard was silent.

Once the countess and her entourage left to seek the warmth of the castle interior, Elizabeta set to work, along with the only other servant present, a man named Daniel. The two were about the same age, twenty-five or so, and came from similar, relatively high social standings. Despite this and their shared tasks, the two hadn't formed much of a bond. This was partly due to their macabre duties, but had more to do with Elizabeta's refusal to interact with anyone more than her job required.

Elizabeta and Daniel stepped up to the body, the former at the head and the latter down by the feet. As Daniel tucked the rags the girl had been wearing before she was stripped under his arm, Elizabeta pushed her lids down over her glazed eyes. Both servants stood for a quiet minute in prayer before each grabbing two frozen limbs. They carried the body to a nearby Protestant church where a priest was tasked to give it a proper burial in the surrounding graveyard filled with the corpses of the countess's victims. All once belonged to girls like the one in the courtyard: young, pretty, and so poor that they were willing to do anything to support their families, even if it meant working for next to nothing at the mysterious castle ruled by the countess who was rumored to practice in the occult. Elizabeta had killed most of the girls herself, how many exactly, she did not know. She had lost count a long time ago.

Her life was not always like this, torturing innocents for the entertainment of her superior, but it had gone on for so long that Elizabeta could scarcely remember a time before. Sometimes she lay awake at night and forced herself to think about her old life. She had been young and head over heels in love with a Prussian, but their relationship got in the way of Elizabeta's arranged betrothal to the son of an Austrian nobleman. In an effort to run away and elope, the two were tracked down by men hired by her father. The Prussian was killed and Elizabeta was taken back home, but by the time she returned the Austrian family, not wanting to be associated with her, had called off the wedding. Her parents, desperate to clear their name, all but sold her to the richest and most prominent family in the area: the Bathorys. Deep down Elizabeta liked to think that they had no idea what they were getting her into.

Now, years later, she was still a permanent member of the countess's personal staff. Countess Bathory burned with cruelty. She was cultured and intelligent, but all of her cleverness went into finding new, exciting ways to inflict pain. Pins were jammed under fingernails, hair was set on fire. A contraption called the "blood shower" use spikes in a hanging cage to burn victims with hot irons. When the warmth of spring forced her to cease her induced hypothermia, she simply replaced the water with honey and watch with delight as the girls were eaten alive by insects. There seemed to be no end to the countess's sadism.

At first, the gruesome hobbies of her employer shocked and disgusted Elizabeta, but she had long since grown used to them. First hand she witnessed, and usually conducted, the brutal deaths of the girls who passed through the countess's torture chamber. It all replayed over and over again in her mind until she became numb. The most she felt when she looked into the terrified eyes of her victims was a dull sense of pity in the pit of her stomach. _How unfortunate, _she would think, _that this girl will end her life this way, completely alone, with absolutely no impact on anyone's life. _She realized of course that many of the girls must have had families of some sort, but if one only holds value in the eyes of nobodies, do they really matter at all? Elizabeta thought not, and just as soon as she removed the boy from her sight, her thoughts on the matter ceased. She held no connection to those the countess chose to torture, so she saw no reason to mourn them extensively.

Despite all of the death that surrounded her, Elizabeta was confident in her own safety. The countess had a special type of girl that she liked to torture, and Elizabeta simply did not fit into the mold. For one, they had to be poor, too poor for anyone to care if they went missing. This was simply to insure their crimes would go unpunished. As for aesthetics, the countess preferred them young, attractive, and Slovak. She also liked them to be virgins. Elizabeta didn't know why the countess had such a particular taste in victims, but she didn't really care as long as she was not one of them.

These were the things that rattled in her head as she trudged back to the castle along with Daniel. He was looking down at his feet as he walked, also lost in his thoughts. A heavy silence forced itself on top of the pair until suddenly, Daniel decided to break it.

"I saw something weird last night," he said quietly.

"Hm?" Elizabeta snapped back into the present. "What?"

"Something weird with…_her_," he replied, nodding to the castle.

"What happened?"

"So yesterday, you remember I went to her room to bring her the wine she wanted. When I got there, she was having a peasant girl brush her hair, and I guess the girl pulled it or something,

Elizabeta shrugged. While the treatment wouldn't be considered nice, it certainly wasn't the worst thing the countess had done.

"No," Daniel shook his head, "That's not the weird part. What's weird was the way she looked after it happened. She was just standing there, staring at the blood on her hand. It was like she was in a trance. And then she just told us to leave. No punishment or anything."

Now that _was _weird. In all of her years working in the castle, Elizabeta had never once seen the countess show anything close to resembling mercy. Letting the girl go without more than a slap was not something she would do, and Elizabeta was sure that there was something worse to come.

"What do you think that means?" she asked, just to see if Daniel was on the same page.

"I think it means she's planning something," he answered.

Elizabeta nodded in agreement, and the two fell silent once again.

A few days later, the duo was called into the countess's personal quarters. When they arrived, they found her sitting alone in her bedroom wearing only a dressing gown. Upon seeing them, she stood up and gestured for them to follow her into the connected bathroom. After a quick glance at one another, the two obeyed. The spacious washroom was superfluously decorated and smelled of exotic oils and creams that Elizabeta would have stopped to enjoy if she had been in a different situation. Countess Bathory sat down again on the edge of an elegant bathtub positioned in the middle of the room, while her servants stood at attention before her.

"Elizabeta," she said in her deceivingly kind voice, "Come here. I want to show you something."

With a small nod, Elizabeta quickly stepped up to her. The countess held out her hand, face up, and pointed to a spot on her palm.

"Look right here," she said, "The skin on this spot looks younger, don't you think? Fresher?"

The countess looked expectantly at Elizabeta's face while she struggled to find an answer. To tell the truth, she couldn't see anything, but she was afraid of what the countess would do if she said that. But then again, this may be a test to see if she would lie. There was no telling what kind of mind games the countess would feel like playing at the moment. Elizabeta argued silently with herself, and after a moment that felt like an eternity, she made up her mind.

"Yes, it does, ma'am.

"That's what I thought," the countess replied, looking back down at her hand. Elizabeta let out a breath of relief.

"You see," she continued, "A short time ago, I managed to get a bit of a peasant girl's blood on my hand. You remember, Daniel, you were there."

Daniel nodded in agreement.

"I was just going to wash it off, but then I noticed its effect on my skin. It revitalized me, you saw so yourself, Elizabeta. That girl's blood was able to restore my youth!"

The countess stood up from the bathtub and walked away towards one of the windows. "I used to be beautiful, you know. Absolutely gorgeous. But how the years have gone by. I've had children, seen wars, and all of it has sucked the youth right out of me. I'm a disgusting old woman."

In reality, the countess had continued to retain her immense beauty up until now. However, self-image is one of the hardest things to change, and neither Daniel nor Elizabeta were willing to try. It was easier and safer to simply go along with her plan.

There was a knock on the bedroom door. With a nod from the countess, Elizabeta and Daniel left to answer it. When they opened the door they came face to face with a teenage girl. She was small, with short blonde hair and big green eyes filled to the brim with fear.

"I…I was told to come here," she said with a trembling voice, "That _she _wanted me to come here. Do you know why?" She looked at Daniel. "Is she still mad about the hair pulling? It was an accident, I promise! It will never happen again!"

Elizabeta and her partner shared a look before bringing the girl inside. Once the three entered the bathroom, they found the countess lying naked in her bathtub, her head back and her eyes closed. She lazily lifted one of her hands to hold up a sharp dagger. Elizabeta stepped forward to take it as the countess opened her eyes and slowly turned her head to face the other two.

"Don't waste any," she warned.

The girl's babbling was cut off by a small gasp. For a hysterical moment, she reminded Elizabeta of one of the statues she made in the courtyard. But that thought disappeared as soon as Daniel grabbed the girl, her frozen horror quickly dissolving into panicked thrashing. With a bit of effort, he swung her upside down over the tub and held her arms and legs close to her body. She begged for mercy, but the servants were too preoccupied with their task to care. With as much precision as she could manage, Elizabeta flicked the dagger across the girl's exposed neck. A thin line of red appeared at first, then it was replaced by a sheet as the blood came gushing out, its metallic smell putridly mixing with the sweet scent of the countess's beauty products. The girl's sobs became chokes and her writhing died down to twitches. Soon she was gone, leaving the countess's soft moans of pleasure as the only sign left that there was any remaining life in the room.

This became their new routine. Every few days or so, when the countess decided that she needed a touch-up, a new girl was brought in to be harvested. Unlike with normal victims, the countess didn't stop to enjoy their misfortune. For once, it was about quantity, not quality. They killed more girls than ever before, enough for the priest at the Protestant church to get suspicious and refuse his service. In desperation, they had to dump the bodies in other places; fields, silos, rivers, wherever they could manage. But the lack of a burial ground became the least of their worries when it became apparent that they were running out of victims. Though Elizabeta was not personally familiar with the process of supplying the castle, the talk was that there just weren't any peasant girls left. When she was told this, the countess set her sights in new targets: the daughters of wealthy surrounding nobles. Personally, Elizabeta thought this was incredibly risky, but her job was not to question her superior, so the noble girls, under the guise of learning etiquette, were brought to the castle to be slaughtered.

For the first time in her years working for the countess, Elizabeta believed that her life was in danger. The girls she killed were no longer nameless peasants, but people she knew from her old life as a member of the upper class. They were her. Elizabeta knew that the only thing that kept her alive was her years of unwavering faithfulness, but even then, the countess cared little for loyalty. She thought of running away, but the chances of her being able to get away were slim, and if she were caught, she'd be killed for sure. Still, Elizabeta prepared for the day her luck would run out.

As it turned out, however, that day would never arrive. Soon after the countess began targeting the upper class, local law enforcement, who before never bothered to investigate the disappearances of insignificant peasant girls, became suspicious. They began collecting information until, after a few weeks, a girl came forward claiming to have escaped from the castle. A raid was performed, and the authorities discovered the horrific aftermath of the countess's crimes. They arrested Countess Bathory and all servants they could fin with a connection to the murders.

The trials went about as well as Elizabeta expected. The countess, with her familial connections, was given lifelong house arrest. Everyone else was sentenced to execution. Most were beheaded, a relatively quick and painless death so unlike those of their victims. Elizabeta and Daniel, however, thanks to their exceptional status as the countess's personal torture artists, were given custom penalties in an effort to fit their notorious crimes.

Despite the guilty verdict, however, Elizabeta couldn't say that she felt at all guilty for what she did. In fact, she wasn't that she had felt anything. She had been running on autopilot for a long time. As she stood before the large crowd of people celebrating her death, Elizabeta for the last time found herself thinking about everything that had brought her to this moment and for the first time in what seemed like forever, she longed to feel alive again.

Her wish was granted in the worst way possible as her executioners lit the fire beneath her feet. Every inch of her body soon surged with excruciating pain and her shrieks pierced through the excited cheers of the crowd. If one were to look closely, they would see tears along with her screams. Tears of agony, of course, but also tears of relief, because Elizabeta was finally reminded that she was, indeed, more than an empty husk. But most of all, there were tears of pure anguish, as she realized that this was the only feeling she would experience from now on as the fires of hell eternally consumed her.

**Author's note:**

**Sorry if this wasn't as graphic as I made it out to be, or even if it was more so. Admittedly, I'm rather desensitized to violence, so i'm not the best person to determine what the general population can handle. Really though, I just didn't want to have to change the rating of this fic based on a single chapter.**

**The Hungarian Countess Elizabeth Bathory is considered one of the most prolific serial killers in recorded history with her body count estimated to be well into the 600's. The only thing I changed in this fic were the details about who exactly killed the victims. Everything else is true, except the bit about her bathing in blood, which is only speculated, though not very far-fetched considering the countess's normal tendencies. She is thought to be a partial inspiration for Bram Stoker's Dracula. Also, if it makes you feel better, she ended up dying alone after being holed into her own torture danger with only a small window for food to be pushed through. **

**Elizabeta- Hungary**

**Daniel- Male Hungary**

**Also, an obligatory apology for not updating in a long time. I've been busy, and this chapter took me longer than most because I couldn't decide how I wanted it to go. I debated whether to make Hungary completely sympathetic or completely malevolent before eventually settling on a little bit of both. I hope that was well expressed in my writing. **

**No promises, but I will try my best to finish the next chapter faster than this one.**


	9. The Beast of Gevuadan

The Beast of Gevaudan-France

Deep in the forests of Gevaudan, there was a small village. Once it had been a place filled with friendly people. Cheerful chatter had filled the air and the atmosphere was warm and charming. Travelers went out of their way to visit because they knew that they would be welcomed with opened arms.

But not anymore. Now doors and windows are kept tightly locked. The only sounds come from the harsh gusts of wind that blow through the empty streets. A feeling of dread falls over anyone who sets foot in the area, suffocating them even before they know what is watching them.

The locals know, however. They were there to see the horror brought upon by what could only be called the Beast. If an outsider was lucky, they could catch snippets of information amidst the terrified whispers.

One such group of outsiders, young soldiers from Paris, huddled around a table in the back of an inn and tavern, eagerly discussing the rumors they had picked up.

"I heard it's the size of a full-gown cow," one man claimed, his drink spilling from his mug.

"I heard it has glowing red eyes," another replied, leaning back on his chair.

"I heard it's so fast you can hardly see it moving," a third man chimed in, "It killed two people four towns apart in less than half an hour."

"That's insane!" the fourth and final man cried out, "What kind of animal is it?"

"It's got to be a wolf, what else?"

"A wolf the size of a cow?"

"Maybe it's a hyena."

"A what?"

"A hyena. They're from Africa. My brother was stationed down there, he told me all about them. They're these huge beasts with sharp teeth that can cut through bone."

"How would a hyena end up in France?"

"I don't know, it's just a theory."

As the men carried on with their conversation, two figures, a man and a woman, gazed at them from behind the bar. The man was in his mid-twenties with shiny blonde waves and a wispy beard that spread down his handsome jawline. The woman was younger and rather attractive in a mysterious sort of way, her eyes glinting mischievously over the frames of her spectacles. With a pleased hum she flipped her long blond braid over her shoulder and sashayed towards the table. The man glared at her as he shook his head in disappointment.

"Good evening, boys," she greeted with a sweet smile, "My name is Monique. I couldn't help but overhear your little discussion." Her hand ghosted over the shoulder of the soldier closest to her "I noticed your uniforms. You were sent here by the king, is that correct? To kill that horrible beast?"

The men, slightly drunk, nodded.

"That's very brave of all of you," Monique continued, "I can't imagine the stress that sort of task would put on someone. That is why I decided to come over to you. To offer up a chance to make things a bit more… interesting."

The soldiers exchanged looks.

"What do you mean by interesting?" one of them asked.

"I mean betting," she answered, her eyes flashing from behind her glasses, "You said so yourselves, nobody is quite sure what this beast is or what it can do. At least not yet. But when you four, along with all of the other hunters and soldiers, kill that thing all of our questions will be answered. Until then, why not try to make some money."

Now she had their full attention. Soon, all four men were reaching into their pockets for money to bet on everything about the beast, from the color of its fur to the size of its teeth. They were just drunk enough to miss the fact that no matter what the outcome, Monique would be walking away with a hefty profit.

The blonde man was still scowling when she returned. She pretended not to notice his anger when she spoke.

"You know, Francis," she said with a smirk, "If you keep making that expression, you're going to give yourself frown lines."

"What you're doing is wrong and you know it," he replied curtly.

Monique rolled her eyes. "Relax. They know what they are getting into."

"No, they don't, because they're drunk, and naïve, and dealing with a con artist." Francis shot back through clenched teeth.

'I'm not a con artist!" she snapped."

"You're manipulating them for your own gain! What else would you call that?"

"Pragmatism, Francis. I'm making the most out of a bad situation."

"A "bad situation". That's what you call this? People have _died_, Monique. _Children_ have died. And you're here taking bets like it's all some sort of game."

"Well, maybe I want to win."

Soon enough, to the relief of the residents of Gevaudan, it became apparent that the beast was not only mortal, but no match for the best hunters and soldiers in the land. After only several days of tracking, the party returned to the village. The locals watched in awe as the mangled corpse of the beast was paraded down the streets. It was frightening even in death and the shock of seeing the thing that had taken so many lives gripped the town and held it in a sort of trance similar to the one before, yet distinct in that the feeling of dread was replaced with tentative relief.

This period of silence passed quickly, however, and celebration soon commenced. Those that had lost a loved one to the beast were allowed closure while those who had not thanked God that they had made it through unscathed. For the first time in years, people danced and sang and smiled.

Monique and Francis joined in the festivities, their argument from before all but forgotten. The inn was livelier than it had ever been, even before the whole ordeal began, and the sibling had their hands full keeping up with the demands of their guests.

Eventually, however, the four soldiers showed up to collect their winnings, each expressing a varying degree of disappointment. Monique, on the other hand, grinned as she pocketed a good $300 worth of cash.

She returned to Francis's side and the two stared straight ahead at the crowd, neither saying a word. When the silence became too much to bear, Francis broke it.

"I'm so disappointed in you," he sighed, "You were raised better than this."

"I'm a grown woman now," Monique snapped back, "I don't need a lecture from you."

"You were taught to have respect for this sort of thing. You were there when it started, when we were having funerals every other goddamn day. You saw all of it and the first thing you can think of is 'How can I make money off of this?' It's disgusting."

Monique turned to look Francis in the eye. "_That's _disgusting? Look at this place!" She gestured towards the crowded hall, whose patrons were beginning to stare. "We wouldn't have half of this business if it weren't for the attacks. I don't see you complaining."

"That's different!"

"How?"

Francis opened his mouth, but said nothing.

"That's what I thought. You're nothing but a hypocrite!"

Francis held up his hand to slap her, but stopped himself when he saw his sister flinch. Monique stared at him, her eyes wide with shock. A heavy moment passed before she spun around and ran out the front door.

Monique stomped down the road, not knowing or caring where she went. She walked for five, ten, twenty minutes, each step taking her farther away from her brother's inn. Her fists clenched and unclenched beside her and she held her head down, shamelessly letting the angry tears roll down her face. If she hadn't been busy muttering insults to Francis, Monique would have noticed the distinct sound of a horse galloping right towards her soon enough to avoid having to dive out of the way.

"Watch where you're going!" she yelled at the rider from her place on the side of the road. Monique cursed as she hiked up her now ripped and dirty dress to get a look at her badly skinned knees. Wincing, she walked over to sit down on a log just on the edge of the forest. She gingerly touched her knee and hissed at the pain. Cursing again, Monique slouched down and thought her options over. The last thing she wanted to do right now was go back home and face Francis, but her only other choice was to sit there until she swallowed her pride. The sharp pain throughout her body made her opt for the former.

Monique stood up from the log and began to hobble back towards the town at a snail's pace. Just as she made it to the edge of the road, a loud rustle sounded out, making her jump and turn around.

She barely had time to scream.

Francis sat in a chair in the corner of the hall, his head in his hands. He couldn't believe he had almost let his emotions get the better of him. All he could see was his little sister's face. The betrayal. The _fear_. It made him sick.

Suddenly, a loud crash silenced everyone in the room as the front door burst open. Standing in the doorway was a man Francis recognized as a farmer from the edge of town.

"Take shelter!" he cried out, "The beast lives!"

"But we killed it," a voice from the crowd answered, "I touched its body!"

"That either wasn't the beast or there is another. Please believe me, it killed two of my farmhands!"

Panic spread across the room like wildfire as people realized his seriousness. Shouts to take cover in the inn were met with urges to go home to check on family members. With all of the commotion, nobody noticed Francis sprinting across the hall.

"What are you doing?" the farmer cried, "You'll be eaten!"

But Francis was too far away to answer. He ran down the road blindly, the sliver of a moon providing next to no light.

"Monique!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, "Monique, where are you?"

His cries were interrupted by the distinct sound of breaking glass as he felt something crunch beneath his foot. With a trembling hand, Francis reached down to pick up the spectacles only to drop them again when he realized in horror that they were wet and sticky. The red stains on the ground continued from the edge of the road into the forest. As Francis followed the bloody trail, the sickening metallic smell became stronger and stronger.

When he saw the body, Francis fell to his knees before it. He reached out as if to stroke her cheek, but there was no longer one to touch. She was unrecognizable aside from the stained tatters of her delicate pink dress and Francis could hardly bring himself to think of this horrific mound of flesh and bones as his sister. He held her still-warm body in his arms and sobbed.

"Beast!" he wailed, not knowing or caring if it was still around to hear him, "You evil beast!"

From the depths of the forest, a guttural growl sounded. Francis looked up to stare into the hellish red eyes of the monster.

"She was a child!" he screamed at it, "You murdered her! Why? To avenge your wicked companion? Have you no mercy for the innocent?"

The beast did not answer his questions.

The bodies were found several days later, after the second beast was killed. It was a pitiful sight to see, but at the same time morbidly beautiful. The siblings were sprawled atop one another, their bodies expressing more than their destroyed faces ever could.

Every once in a while, talk of the beasts would spring up again. Most agreed that they were no mere animals. Their attacks were deliberate; they did not kill to feed or protect themselves. Some thought they were sent by the devil himself to take the innocent. Others scoffed at this. After all, they said, who among us is truly innocent?

**Author's note:**

**Francis-France**

**Monique-Monaco**

**The beast of Gevaudan was a real animal that killed a crapton of people in France during the 1700's. By a crapton, I mean anywhere from 60 to 200. There are a lot of different accounts about what the beast looked like and what kind of animal it was exactly, but most historians today surmise it was some sort of wolf. It was notable in that it didn't actually eat its victims, but rather attack their head and necks and leave them to die. **

**Surprise, I'm not dead!**

**Sorry I've been gone for so long. People who follow me might have noticed that I hadn't really left, but began a couple of other fics. At the time, I was in the mood to write a different kind of genre. But I'm not abandoning this fic, I promise. It's just easier to take a break from anthological works than it is those that have overarching plots. **

**Another thing, I noticed that this chapter got a little heavy-handed, and I wanted ya'll to know that everything I write is for narrative purposes, and they don't necessarily reflect how I view things, nor should they you. **

**Anyway, I'm still willing to take suggestions for characters I haven't written about yet. **


End file.
